Gifts From Nobody
by SarcasticSymphony
Summary: Hermione has been receiving gifts from 'Nobody' ever since the Christmas after The Battle of Hogwarts. When Ron slips Hermione a love potion at Christmas, she finally has a chance to find out who her secret admirer is. HG/DM. In-Progress.
1. chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, would have settled for a nice Draco.

review? BTW this is my first fic so please be nice.

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*Hermione's POV*

It's Christmas Eve.

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place is lit up by Fred and George's new inventions, baubles that zoom all over the place that are filled with light. It doesn't help that they grow bigger every time a couple snogs under the mistletoe, and finally explode into fireworks when we complete the Weasley tradition of kissing your loved one to promise a happy year when the clock strikes twelve.

Seriously, I can't stand them. Maybe it's because I don't have someone, since Ron and I broke up after two months. He kept trying to control my life, deciding who I should spend time with. Hell, even my visits with _Harry_ were limited to thrice a week when we were together. Finally, I detonated, and we officially split… after a horrible shouting match. We haven't got back together since, and I _certainly_ don't miss the relationship, but we're far on the road to rebuilding our friendship.

The air is thick with music and dancing people, all celebrating Christmas and the arrival of another year. If I'm being honest with myself, which I haven't been lately, I don't think I'm really in the mood to celebrate. Harry isn't, too, like me, he's simply standing with his back to the wall, occasionally smiling and nodding when someone in the crowd calls out to him.

He turns to look at me. "Bit wearing, isn't it?" he sighs, grinning adorably while running his hands through his hair. I smile briefly at him before scanning the crowd in hope of spotting Ron and Ginny, who supposedly went to get some drinks.

I hope I can get out of this blasted party and to the warmth and softness of my own four-poster upstairs soon.

"Oh good, Ron's back."

Harry's eyes light up at my words, and search eagerly through the crowd to catch a glimpse of Ginny. A month after our break-up, I cried and envied what they have, and asked myself why Ron and I couldn't have that. But now I know the answer.

Ron and I are not fit for each other. I love and cherish my independence, while Ron enjoys the feeling of control he has over me. Prizing my freedom over Ron, I told him so, completely and honestly. I told him that he could not control me, and… we broke up.

Anyway. Away from this painful topic. I'm thinking too much. Away from the point.

I twist the glass beads of my necklace absentmindedly as I watch Ron and Ginny fight their way through the crowd. It really is a beautiful thing, gold and clear crystal beads hanging on a thin silver chain. I have worn it since the night it arrived on my dresser the first Christmas after The Battle of Hogwarts, not to mention the terribly precious first edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ that came on the Christmas after.

I have tried and failed to find out who has been sending me these things. Locked up in my room, I used countless revealing spells over and over again, but the person was very clever in handling these gifts. According to my research, the person has removed all traces of the person's own magical signature, making it virtually impossible to find out this person's identity.

Damnit, Ron is coming. I must stop dwelling on these thoughts and tuck them away into a dark alcove in the back of my mind.

Ron blows his hair out of his eyes and hands me a cup. In the darkness of the room, it looks like there's Firewhisky in it. I narrow my eyes at him. "Ronald Bilius Weasley, I thought I told you to get me Butterbeer?"

"This _is_ Butterbeer, Hermione!"

Looking suspiciously at him, I examine my glass warily. He's right, it _is_ Butterbeer, although at first glance, it seems a few shades darker. Lifting the glass to my nose, I take a sniff. It smells like Butterbeer all right, although I sense something enticing and dark underneath it.

Hmm, maybe _one_ drink could do no harm. It's not like there's poison in it or anything.

I take a swig. "Fine," I say grumpily. Ron grins.

Suddenly, a light, heady sensation takes over me. I feel as though I'm floating on air. I'm the happiest person in the world…why?

I look around and see Ron, still grinning.

Something connects.

I feel an odd sense of satisfaction, mingling with a sort of…longing in my stomach. As if making Ron happy is all I have to do in the world. I smile back at him giddily.

A flash of satisfaction crosses his face before disappearing, but I don't stop to ponder its meaning, because Ron is already dragging me away across the dance floor, towards the staircase. I follow him blindly, and the longing in my stomach is growing. We pause before his room door.

He puts his hands on my shoulders.

"First of all," he says, "I don't want to see you alone with any other man, except me and Harry, but you may only see him once a week. The rest of the time you _will_ spend with _me_ , and obey everything I tell you to do. Is that a deal?"

I only smile and nod obediently, his words filtering through my brain. A strange sense of determination takes over me, and I _will_ obey his orders, cost what it may.

A slice of absolutely savage triumph passes Ron's features, and he pulls me into his room.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the good reviews, guys! I may not be able to update this week (y'know, homework and mothers). i hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry, but I want Draco so bad *sobs*

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*Draco's P.O.V.*

My bedroom disappears in a swirl of colour as I am pressed into that nauseating feeling of compression. With the faint pop of Apparition, I recognize new surroundings. Taking a moment to gather my wits about me, I cross the carpeted landing with strong, firm strides, pausing only to make sure I am not noticed by the people partying beneath me or to criticize my surroundings. Potter has certainly done some good here, although to think that my ancestors once lived in this _grim old place_ before renovation makes me shudder.

Within a few minutes, I pause before the door which I have anticipated for so long today. A whirl of doubts strike into my heart like arrows, each more painful than the next. What was the use of coming here, all this time? She never even bothered to find out who sent that necklace made of alternating gold and crystal glass beads and the heavy (and not to mention, expensive) first edition of _Hogwarts: a History._

I hesitate slightly before pushing open the door with a trembling hand. This familiar room is certainly a sight for sore eyes. Bookshelves are built into the peach-coloured walls, filled to bursting with books ranging from _A Complete Wizarding History of Charmwork and its Essentials_ to _Rita Skeeter: The Faults and Exaggerations of Her Work._ A comfortable four-poster lined with silken sheets of gold and red claims its territory in the very middle of the room. _Always the house loyalist,_ I think wryly.

Besides a large wardrobe, her dresser stands, topped with many creams and all types of makeup. In the remaining space, a polished wooden desk stands, accompanied by a cushioned chair. The wall above this desk holds a framed picture of Hermione, Weaselbee and Potter, and another of Hermione with her parents.

It is to this desk I hurry, sneering at the Weasel in the photo, who is clearly trying to escape through the frame when it sees me. Drawing a wrapped package out of the folds of my cloak, I place it on the surface of this table, listening to the gentle clinking of glass on wood. I draw out another letter, heavy as it is with its many sheets of parchment, and let it rest beside the package.

Gathering my cloak about me, I step softly out through Hermione's room, ready to hurry back to the end of the hall and Disapparate.

And that is when I see it.

Hermione and Weasley rolling around on his bed, tongues, lips and teeth mashing together. It is as though time has stopped. I am numb, from the tips of my hair to the ends of my toes. Tears prick my eyes as I stare on.

 _Malfoys do not cry,_ I remind myself, forcing the tears back to where they came from. _Weasley should not have set glass panes into the walls, then,_ I smirk to myself. And then the sheer force of my realization comes crashing over me.

She does not care. She loves him. Maybe I should not have left that letter after all.

Why would she still love him? She broke up with him ages ago. I remember reading from the _Daily Prophet_ that she cited him as 'manipulative and controlling'. But it is certainly his 'manly charms' that lured her back into his arms. Promises of a stable relationship. That he would never repeat his mistake ever again.

At this point, all I can feel is blind, cold anger. I want to scream, I want to storm, I want to rip Ronald Weasley a new head.

But my feet and arms just do not want to move.

And I am lucky they didn't, if not I would not witness what happened next.

Clouded over with rage, my eyes only saw Weasley looking shocked and resentful, before they came back into focus.

And it was _wonderful._

 _My_ Hermione slapped him across the cheek, bound him to the wall with an _Incarcerous_ and hit him with a Punching Jinx and a Tickling Jinx. She shouted something at him and then turned to leave.

But then she strode out of the room, fuming, and I realized I had forgot to hide.

She saw me and something just… lit up in her eyes.

Seconds later she was running towards me, until we collided.

Her lips felt like heaven. I could kiss them all day and never tire of them. I have been waiting for this moment so long.

People are running up the stairs, and I pull away reluctantly.

She tells me four words before I Disapparate.

"Draco, a love potion."


	3. Chapter 3

Hi gais! I'm having a bit of writers block on deciding how Hermione should deal with the whole Ron situation while bashing with her love life. Haiseh~~~ Anyway, please enjoy… as usual! :P

Sorry for taking so long. I have been really busy with life.

Disclaimer: All credit goes to J.K. Rowling, that is, Jowling Kowling Rowling. I own nothing except these donuts.

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*Hermione's P.O.V.*

The door locks with a resounding click.

Ron pulls me onto the bed, and wastes no time in savaging my mouth. I know that we are clearly visible from the glass panes set into the wall, but I don't care. If Ron doesn't care, then neither do I. My duty is to obey his orders and provide him with pleasure as much as I can.

We roll around on the bed. I am contented with pleasing Ron.

Something is not right.

No.

 _Everything_ is not right.

Why in the name of Merlin's beard am I snogging Ronald Weasley in his bed?

 _ **Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.**_

So much tongue.

I duck down and vomit on the floor beside Ron's bed. I snatch a glass of water from his bedside table and drain it.

Recovering from this sudden feeling of nausea, a blind rage takes over me.

How _dare_ he make me drink a _love potion?_ How _dare_ he take away my own free will?

He _knows_ I do not love him anymore! How dare he take control of my life, again, not to mention preventing me from being in the company of other, more attractive males?

I turn on him now, towering over him in my rage. I am grimly pleased to see that he is shocked speechless at the raw magic crackling up my skin and through my hair.

" _How_ _ **dare**_ _you, Ronald Bilius Weasley! How_ _ **dare**_ _you sabotage_ _ **my**_ _life!"_

I lift my palm and slap him across the cheek, relishing in the feeling of satisfaction and vengeance.

" _Incarcerous_!"

Now, he is bound and tied to the wall. But I am not done yet.

" _Rictusempra! Selvio Mularium_!"

 _Selvio Mularium_ is a spell of my own making. Aside from the effects of a Punching Jinx, it also has a side effect of creating a rash in the shape of the caster's making. In this case, it is _Traitor,_ labelled across his back in large, bold letters. It will never go away. Well, it won't, in case he discovers the counter-curse, which I very much doubt he will.

I need time to think now. If I am acting on impulse, I will destroy Ron in my anger, and I _certainly_ do not want to deal with an exceptionally angry Molly Weasley, not to mention all the court stuff besides. Not to mention the fact that I want to.

Breathless and angry, I leave him bound to his bedpost, turning and storming out into the landing.

Blinded with rage, I do not see the person who is standing dumbstruck and immobilized there, cloaked in black, until I am within a few feet from him.

And suddenly, simply, I _understand._

I understand who has been sending gifts anonymously to me now.

I understand why he never attends a Ministry meeting if I am present.

I understand why he never retaliated when I punched him in third year.

I understand why he never voluntarily harmed me during the second war.

 _Draco Malfoy?_ My conscience chuckles.

The thought is absurd, I know.

 _Draco Malfoy in love with me? The stupid, annoying, bossy Mudblood know-it-all in school?_

I don't know why this hits me so hard at the moment. But I know.

I fly at him and we embrace, tongues dancing together. Merlin, he is _good._

Lots of people are swarming up the stairs now, looking for the source of the commotion. There will be a week's worth of _Daily Prophet_ titles of the 'secret affair' between the Gryffindor Princess and Slytherin Prince, former Death Eater. I let go of him reluctantly.

As he turns and makes to Disapparate, I cling on to this last hope that he will not misunderstand.

"Draco, a love potion."

There. Scarcely loud enough for the people to hear, for his ear and his only.

And he's gone with a very faint _pop._

I know there will be a parcel in my room today, with the same card as always. _From Nobody_ , written in green ink.

As I make to enter my own room, examine this parcel and _think,_ a loud shout captures my attention.

" _What do you think you've done to my son?"_

Oh, Merlin.

But I think I have a very, _very_ shrewd idea of the _love potion part_ of Ron's plan.

Hint: it involves Molly Weasley.

Ron was never an expert potion-maker.

The woman in question strides up to me and roughly pokes a finger in my chest, looking breathless but pink all the same.

" _How dare you harm my son, you foul, filthy Mudblood?"_ she screams. The crowd draws back with looks of shock and mingled disgust on their faces.

Compared to her, I am literally the epitome of cool and collected.

I tip my face up to meet hers defiantly.

I never really liked her. Always pampering Harry like some little prince, mollycoddling and protecting Ron from all his wrongs, always believing the worst of me, trying to blackmail me into marrying Ron, which resulted in a month's worth of headlines that I was a heartless, cold creature, but I neither knew nor cared.

The use of the word _Mudblood_ has long since lost effect on me.


End file.
